


Signs of Madness

by LunaDeSangre



Series: Magical Fucking Powers [1]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Sentinel Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:53:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDeSangre/pseuds/LunaDeSangre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>As far as he can remember, Miguel’s always had slightly more developed senses.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs of Madness

As far as he can remember, Miguel’s always had slightly more developed senses. Hearing things other people couldn’t catch, seeing better than anyone else – and the flip-side of that: outside, _out there_ , he had to wear sunglasses most of the time, not because it made him look cooler and tougher (as he let other people think) but because _the light hurt his eyes_.

It’s yet another sore spot El Cid could kick him in, if he ever finds out about it: Latinos are supposed to be tanned and able to look at the sun, they’re not supposed to need sunglasses to avoid squinting like whiteys with very light eyes when it gets even slightly bright. But Miguel, despite not being white – no matter what El Shithead says –, despite having dark eyes, does ( _did_ , out there).

But it’s actually more than that: he can sense trouble coming. Can feel anyone trying to sneak up behind him, the slightest wave of displaced air sending a shiver on his skin – and he _knows_ , can turn around, fight back and live. It doesn’t work all the time: he didn’t see that shank coming, still too high, and that bullet had just been too fast, coming out of nowhere in the midst of chaos while his body and his mind were shutting down from the teargas and the sudden noises after that panicked, dreadful silence (or what would have been silence if there hadn’t been way too many people breathing in the dark), hearing, eyesight and sense of smell exploding on him. He’d gone back to normal as he healed in the infirmary, his mind blissfully back to cotton-wool thanks to the painkillers, and he hadn't thought too much about it, putting it down to the riot and his cursed genetic luck. (Drugs had always done that as well: dimmed everything to bearable levels. It’s why he took them, really.)

Outside, all that had made him a downright _spectacular_ lover: he could hear every little sigh, feel every tiny shiver – and so he could draw them again. Louder and louder. Make them _scream_. He prided himself on that (among other things).

In here _he’s_ the one that screams – and not in pleasure. It’s more than just Oz: Solitary is driving him fucking _loco_.


End file.
